Note: I posted
this on the filks thread, and decided to post it as a
fic too. J I’ve changed it a
little, thanks to my beta reader, Elanor Gamgee.
So you all are
clear – the narrator is Ginny, meaning this is Harry/Ginny (though no fluff or
anything). Just so you know! (Oh, and I wouldn’t suggest any younger kids read
this…)
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And
all through the house
Not
a creature was stirring
Not
even a mouse.
The
stockings were floating
Levitated
in air
And I knew that it
was likely
We’d find Dungbombs in there.
(Thanks, Fred and George!)
The
children were (supposedly) snug in their beds
While
visions of ice mice danced in their heads.
Harry
in his blue nightrobes, me pulling back my hair
Were
resting after settling more sibling warfare
When
in the living room there arose such a clatter
I
sprang from my bed to see what was the matter!
Put
on my housecoat, ran out the door…
When
I got downstairs, “Father Christmas” was on the floor!
“Not
midnight yet, too early for you!”
Said my dear little Melissa, aka Cindy
Lou.
Patrick
was pulling on Fred’s leg.
“You’re
not Father Christmas – you’re as jolly as a peg!”
I
knew that I should intervene…
But
this was such a priceless scene!
“I
left a tad early, hohoho,
And
I’m on a diet – look, just let me go!”
Melissa
and Patrick backed away, and Fred stood,
Possibly as quickly as he could.
“So
why are you early?” Patrick asked.
“Did
you do what Mummy does, and multi-task?”
Fred
blinked. “I suppose so, yes.
Now
are those enough gifts, or do you want the rest?”
“What
if he’s not Father Christmas?” Melissa asked in a whisper.
Patrick
tugged on his reindeer slipper.
“Now,
before we believe it’s you, what’s the capital of France?”
Fred
smiled. “Paris, my precious smarty
pants.”
“I
think it’s him,” Melissa clarified.
But
Patrick was not satisfied.
“Where
are the reindeer? Prancer and Comet? Rudolph, did he get sick and-”
I
rushed in at once, needless to say;
He’d
horrified me a bit much for the day.
“Now
you two, leave him alone,
Take
your presents, and let him go home.”
They
hung their heads, looking ashamed;
You’d think I was
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!
Patrick
looked at me. “I simply thought,
That
though he said he was Father Christmas, he was not!”
“Well,
now, prove yourself,” I said with a wink.
Then
hoped my children’s dreams wouldn’t sink.
Fred
gave me the coldest of glares
And then looked at my children’s hopeful stares.
“Uh,
yes, my children – er, follow me,
I’m
as real as you will ever be!
I
will warn you that the reindeer were tired tonight,
But
invisible Horses helped with the flight!”
Father
Chr – I mean, Fred – led us outside,
Still
not quite failing his North Polian guise!
He Apparated on the roof, got on a sleigh,
The sight of that
made my day!
Fred
gave us a wave, and shouted as he flew into the night:
“Merry
Christmas to all – and your Mummy was right!”
